Untitled by Lee Andrews

Untitled

by Lee Andrews

I am but a poor man.

Poor, I say, in monetary terms

Due to the beast that lurks at my door.

Brief respite within my home

Has only made me a restless boor.

I can only imagine the poor drunkard

Whose spindly legs buckled

Under the weight of the world.

Within his spinning mind

Were the words of beauty

That God placed upon

Foundations untold.